


you can call me names (if you call me up)

by finding



Series: i don't want your body (but i hate to think about you with somebody else) [4]
Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: Confessions, M/M, divorce kids, the varsity jacket, where can i find a friend like big red
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25254400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finding/pseuds/finding
Summary: “Ricky,” EJ says his name, softly, slowly, like he’s being careful. Like the name is fragile, like Ricky’s something that needs to be handled gently.Ricky chokes back a sound he doesn’t want to make and realizes that his fingers are curled into a fist, his nails digging crescents into his palms. He breaths—one, two, one, two—like they told him to do when his mom left the first time, the second, the third.“I’m wearing your jacket right now,” Ricky says.or: Big Red gets Ricky wine drunk, Ricky gets a little emotional, and EJ gets a phone call he’s not expecting.
Relationships: Ricky Bowen/E.J. Caswell
Series: i don't want your body (but i hate to think about you with somebody else) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760380
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79





	you can call me names (if you call me up)

**Author's Note:**

> bear with me, things get better. 
> 
> also: i’m considering making a playlist for this fic. if you guys would be interested in that, lmk!
> 
> also: look up black marxism! there's no racial justice without economic justice! spend this time to educate yourself, or at least just scroll through wikipedia for a bit! if you can take 10 minutes to read hsmtmts fanfic, you can take a few minutes to sign petitions or read the news. stay vigilant!
> 
> title from 3 nights by dominic fike.

“Is your dad home?” Big Red asks the second Ricky picks up the phone. He scrubs a hand over his face as he blinks his eyes open.

“Uh,” Ricky answers, a little distracted from trying to remember where he is right now, “I’m not sure.”

“Did you just wake up? Dude, it’s like, 4:30 in the afternoon.”

Ricky tries to sit up on the couch and, in the process, spills an entire bag of Doritos onto the floor that he must’ve fallen asleep eating. “Fuck,” he groans.

“So?”

“What?”

Big Red sighs, and Ricky can hear him moving around on the other end of the line. “So, is your dad home? Cause Gina unloaded four bottles of Moscato on me after the kid from econ messed up her order, and they’ve got your name on ‘em if you want them.”

“Uh, I think he’s gone until tomorrow morning on a work thing, so you can come over,” Ricky says. He finally plants his feet on the ground and stands up, and the blood immediately rushes to his head. Ricky _really_ needs to sleep more.

“Okay, that’s great because I just pulled into your driveway. Front door unlocked?” Big Red asks. Ricky hears the slamming of a car door over the phone.

Ricky blinks a few times, still trying to regain his balance. “Yeah, just come in. I’m in the living room.” He stares at the chips covering the carpet and thinks: _Later._

“Honey I’m home!” Big Red calls out as the door swings shut behind him. He rounds the corner into the living room, the duffel bag he’s carrying clinking ridiculously loudly.

“Could you be any more obvious?” Ricky asks, but the question kind of loses all dignity it might have conveyed when Ricky trips over a blanket on the floor.

Big Red rolls his eyes and drops the bag down onto the coffee table. “Yeah, cause the neighbors care _so much_ about teen drinking when both of them have been deaf since the Vietnam War.”

“Don’t talk shit about Linda. She made us a month’s worth of tuna casserole when my mom dipped,” Ricky says, defensive. “Granted, it was _awful_ , and we had to throw it all out, but…”

Big Red flops down on the couch and sprawls out. “So, what are we watching?” He looks at the tv where Hulu is getting ready to autoplay the 34th episode of Love Island and throws Ricky a disappointed look.

“British accents help me fall asleep,” Ricky says blankly. He tries to keep a straight face, but then Red starts doing a scarily accurate imitation of Caroline Flack and he kind of loses it. Ricky throws a pillow at him and grabs the remote. “Just put anything on. I’m gonna go change.”

Red looks at Ricky out of the corner of his eye, but most of his attention is focused on the tv as he scrolls through Netflix. “Yeah, whose jacket is that, anyway?” he asks.

Ricky looks down, confused, and realizes, _shit,_ that he’s wearing EJ’s varsity jacket. “It’s my dad’s,” he says quickly, and then adds, “from when he was in high school.”

Big Red raises his eyebrows. “Your dad went to East High? I thought he grew up in Connecticut.”

Ricky blanches and tries to think of a lie. “He uh—moved here right before he graduated.”

“Hmm,” Red responds absentmindedly, now scrolling through a queue of horror movies. Ricky takes this as his cue to escape and heads upstairs.

Ricky shuts the door to his room and looks in the mirror that’s hanging on the back of the door. He looks tired, for starters, with soft purple bruises below his eyes and a hollow look in his cheeks. Ricky brings a hand up to his collarbone, touches a fading hickey on his neck (the ones Red stopped asking about a week ago when he finally realized Ricky wouldn’t explain where they’re coming from). The red and purple mark is half-hidden under the high collar of EJ’s jacket, and Ricky thumbs at the ribbed white material, staring at himself in the mirror.

He fell asleep with the jacket on when he took a nap today. And he fell asleep with it on the night before. And maybe the night before that too. He doesn’t want to think about the implications of what that means, even though he _knows_ exactly why he’s doing it. The thought of taking it off makes his throat constrict, so he stares at himself for a few seconds more before pulling it tighter around his body.

When Ricky walks down the stairs he flicks the light switch so the living room goes dark. Big Red is illuminated only by the light of the TV.

“I’m not watching Little Women,” Ricky says as he falls back on the couch next to Red.

Big Red huffs and pushes play anyways. “Fragile masculinity is such a sad thing, Ricky.” He leans forward to grab a bottle of wine off the coffee tables and tosses it into Ricky’s lap. “Now drink up and stop playing tough guy so we can cry together when Laurie professes his love for Jo.”

“Have you seen this before?” Ricky asks while fumbling with the bottle opener. “Anyways, isn’t it too early to get drunk? Also, it’s Thursday.”

“Number one: days of the week aren’t real in the summer. Number two: when have you _ever_ cared about day drinking?”

Ricky wiggles the cork out with a satisfying pop and tosses it onto the table. He brings the bottle to his lips and takes a long drink. It’s sweet, and he offers it to Big Red. “Fair enough.”

An hour later, Ricky’s slumped against Red’s shoulder and trying to keep his eyes open as his friend prattles on about some part of the movie. Wine always makes him sleepy, and he’s already finished off a full bottle.

“I’m just _saying_ that Laurie can’t possibly understand what it was like to be a woman back in that time—”

“And you do?” Ricky says, lolling his head to look at Red.

“What I’m _saying_ is that women at that time couldn’t afford to marry for love. It’s insulting for him to tell her that she’s being selfish.”

Ricky lets his head fall back onto the couch and stares at the ceiling. “Not everyone gets to marry the person they love.”

“Exactly! Marriage can be about social capital and economic transactions and—fuck, you know it’s all because of _capitalism_ , that’s the real problem and—”

Ricky zones out again because Big Red’s been going off on these tangents about capitalism ever since he had to do some project about the Russian Revolution in his AP History class. Ricky doesn’t really know a lot about Marxism. Or the economy. Or anything to do with school, really. He liked doing dissections in Biology and thought Romeo and Juliet was actually kind of a good story, but other than that, he’s never been very good at that sort of stuff.

“Would you do it, though?” Ricky asks.

Big Red stops mid-sentence. “Do what?”

“Marry someone that you’re not in love with.”

Red pauses for a moment and then shakes his head. Ricky can feel the movement of his shoulders as he leans against him. “No. I don’t think I could do it.”

Ricky stares harder at the ceiling, watches the fan move in lazy circles. It’s probably 100 degrees outside but Ricky wouldn’t know. His dad keeps the house at a balmy 65 even in winter. “I think I could. My dad did it.”

“You’re not your dad,” Big Red offers lightly, but his voice is confident. “You’re not your parents, Ricky.”

“Yeah,” Ricky says, and if his voice breaks when he says it, Red doesn’t mention it. His friend shifts a bit on the couch so that he can wrap an arm around Ricky.

“You can love people, Ricky. You love me and your dad. You loved Nini,” Big Red says quietly.

“Yeah,” Ricky says again. “I don’t—I’m just not sure if I really loved her, though. We’re just kids, right, like, we don’t _really_ know what it’s like to be in love.”

Big Red shakes his head again. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. I’ve been going out with Ashlyn for what, a few months now? I fucking love the girl to death. She _sees_ me, you know? She looks at me, and I don’t feel like I have anything to hide. Maybe it’ll last through Junior year or maybe we’ll get married and have weird red-headed kids, but I don’t really give a fuck either way. Just—when you have someone like that, you gotta take every single fucking second you can get with them before it’s gone.”

Ricky pulls away from Big Red and stares at him in the dark for a second. “You’re kinda smart, dude.”

Red cuffs him on the head and pushes him back onto the couch. “Now shut up. Beth’s about to die.”

Ricky laughs, and he’s grateful that Big Red doesn’t push the issue further. He’s not good at having conversations about real stuff like this, though wine makes it a hell of a lot easier to talk at all. “I’m gonna go upstairs really quick and get a blanket. You don’t need to pause it.”

“As _if_ I’d pause this masterpiece for your sake. Don’t be long, darling!” Red calls out as Ricky leverages himself off the couch and starts up the stairs, two at a time.

When Ricky gets upstairs, he walks right past the linen closet and instead makes his way to the bathroom. He doesn’t turn the light on when he walks in, just shuts the door and sits down on the closed toilet seat. Ricky pulls his phone out and finds his text conversation with EJ.

_can i call you?_

He holds the phone loosely in his hand, and his knee starts to shake up and down—a nervous tick—while he waits for the response. Ricky scrolls up to look through their past conversations and almost laughs at how stupid they sound.

_Do you really think you’d get to play Danny_

_Zuko? We all know you’re the Olivia Newton_

_John to my Travolta_

_if you want me to have sex with you on_

_the beach all you had to do was ask_

_anyways, i’ve always thought of myself as_

_more of a rizzo tbh_

_You definitely have the mouth to play her_

_don’t be dumb_

_u like my mouth_

_I’d like it more if it was at this stupid country_

_club with me. Maybe if you were sucking me off_

_in the bathroom my dad wouldn’t have time to_

_yell at me for wanting to do the musical again._

_dads are dumb_

_also brb gonna zone out for a few minutes while_

_i think about giving you head under the table while_

_your dad talks about loans and corporate taxes and_

_how u get to be just like him someday xx_

Ricky’s not sure when they started texting every day. It probably started after Ricky had spent over an hour asking around at a party if anyone knew if EJ was coming and was so exhausted when he finally found him, that he demanded EJ give him his phone and put his number in EJ’s contacts with the name _rizzo <3_.

(“I had to talk to fucking _Chet_ to find out if you were coming tonight. _Chet_ ,” Ricky said, the word loaded with distaste.

“Awww, getting to know my teammates, Bowen? That’s sweet. Maybe you can come over for team dinner sometime. The guys love it when I bring my girls around,” EJ replied wrapping an arm around Ricky’s waist and tugging him forward until they were chest to chest. EJ looked down at him, smirking.

“Number one: I’m not one of your girls. I’m very much my _own_ girl, thank you. Number two: talking to Chet is like trying to talk to a pre-schooler. No, wait, a pre-schooler with a brain bleed. He asked me to draw a picture of you because he didn’t know who “EJ Caswell” was.”

EJ’s grin grew wider as he began to back Ricky into the wall. “It’s not his fault. He makes up for it with those legs, anyways.” Ricky glared at him and crossed his arms across his chest. “Oh, c’mon Bowen, don’t pout. You have good qualities too. Sometimes your hair doesn’t totally look like shit. And you have a mouth like a goddamn pornstar.”)

So, anyway, they started texting to find out if they’d be at the same party. And then sometimes EJ would text him when he’d be getting off a shift late at the pool. And sometimes Ricky would text EJ when he was watching _The Vampire Diaries_ just to tell him how fucking _stupid_ this show is and he doesn’t get how EJ watches it. And then, after a while, it just became normal to text each other whenever they were horny or bored or kind of lonely. Or a combination of all three. 

_About to get off work. What’s up?_

Ricky doesn’t really know how to type out “I think that I like you and maybe I could even love you if I knew you well enough and I don’t want to stop hooking up but if we keep doing this I think it’ll kill me” so instead he just tells EJ to call him when he’s free.

Ricky must have drifted off at some point while waiting for EJ to call because he’s jolted awake by the sound of his ringtone. He quickly answers, but not before smacking his head on the towel rack.

“Fucking _fuck_ ,” Ricky mumbles, rubbing at his forehead.

“Hello to you too,” EJ says drily on the other end of the phone.

Ricky blanches for a moment, taken aback by the sound of EJ’s voice. Has it always been this deep? He can’t tell if he’s not thinking straight because of the wine or the big-life-revelations or what, but Ricky can’t fucking remember what he was going to say.

“You there, Bowen?” EJ says after a second.

Ricky blinks and puts the phone back up to his face. “Uh—yeah, sorry.”

“So…” EJ drawls.

“So?”

EJ sighs. “So what did you want to talk about? Cause I’ve got a keg and half the dance team waiting for me.”

“I uh,” Ricky starts, but he can’t quite form the words he actually wants to say. “How was your day?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. “You called me to ask how my day was?”

Ricky holds his breath and tries to focus on the light coming from under the door. “Yes?”

“It was fine. Lots of people came to the pool. It was hot today,” EJ says slowly.

Ricky nods and then realizes that EJ can’t see him. “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, sure,” EJ replies. He sounds confused. “Is that all you wanted to ask me?”

“…yes.”

Ricky can hear the sound of traffic on EJ’s end. A car backfires, and EJ sighs again. “Okay. I’m gonna hang up then.”

“Okay,” Ricky says. His voice is shaking.

“I’m gonna hang up unless you need anything else, yeah?” EJ says quietly. In the background, a siren goes off.

“Okay.”

There’s silence, again, and Ricky just wants EJ to fucking _hang up_ because Ricky’s hands are shaking so much he doesn’t think he could even press the button and if EJ doesn’t do it soon, Ricky’s not really sure what he’s going to say.

There’s silence, and then, “Ricky,” EJ says his name, softly, slowly, like he’s being careful. Like the name is fragile, like Ricky’s something that needs to be handled gently.

Ricky chokes back a sound he doesn’t want to make and realizes that his fingers are curled into a fist, his nails digging crescents into his palms. He breaths— _one, two, one two_ —like they told him to do when his mom left the first time, the second, the third.

“I’m wearing your jacket right now,” Ricky says. There’s a pause.

“Okay,” EJ replies, but his voice doesn’t betray any emotion.

“I’m wearing your jacket, and it’s dumb but it feels like you’re here with me, you know? Like—like your stupid huge arms are around me and it’s warm and it smells like you and I’ve worn it every night when I go to sleep since that party and—”

“Fuck,” EJ says, his voice breathy. “Fuck, Ricky, you can’t say shit like that.” 

“I keep—I keep thinking about the kiss, you know? It doesn’t usually feel like that, right? Does it feel like that for you? When you kiss girls? Or—or guys, I guess. I don’t know. I just can’t stop—”

“Fuck, Ricky,” EJ says again, more quietly this time. “You gotta stop. You can’t talk about this stuff.”

Ricky blinks and realizes that he’s breathing heavy. “I don’t—what are you talking about?”

EJ sighs. “I know you’ve been drinking. You don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t want you to say anything that you’ll regret.”

And Ricky realizes, _Oh,_ that EJ thinks he’s drunk out of his fucking mind, that he’s babbling and pouring out his heart and saying things he doesn’t mean. “I’m not drunk,” Ricky says, and he can hear EJ scoff lightly on the other end of the phone. “I mean it, I’m not drunk. I had _one_ bottle of wine, that’s it.”

“Just go to bed and sleep it off,” EJ says.

“I don’t—what the _fuck_ EJ, I don’t need to sleep it off. I’m not fucking drunk,” Ricky says, insistent. He needs EJ to listen to him, can’t have him end the conversation like this.

“We’re not talking about this right now, Ricky. Maybe when you’re sober, but—”

“Did you love her?” Ricky asks, cutting EJ off.

Another pause. “Did I love who?” EJ sounds tired.

“Nini. Did you love her?”

“I don’t know, Ricky,” EJ sighs. “I think so.”

Ricky breathes out, exhales, _one two one two._ “I think I was in love with the idea of her,” Ricky says. “My childhood crush, my first girlfriend, the girl next door. I could never say I love you to her, you know? It’s why she broke up with me the first time. But I—I don’t know if I can love people.”

“What are you talking about, Ricky?” EJ asks.

“What I’m _saying_ ,” Ricky says, frustrated, “is that I didn’t love her. And I really don’t know if I can love anyone at all because I look at myself and all I see is my parents and my mom leaving again and _again_ and I can’t fucking do that to someone,” he waits for a second, but EJ doesn’t say anything. “I don’t think I can love anyone, but when I’m with you I kind of want to try. And that scares me. A lot. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. We can stop hooking up or whatever, I just—I just can’t keep going on like this.”

Another siren goes off, more cars drive by. Ricky hears a kid shout in the background. He waits for EJ to say something, _anything._

“Okay,” EJ says, and Ricky wishes he could see him, wishes he could see the look on his face, those blue-green eyes, watch his jaw work. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

Ricky clenches his jaw, tries to keep himself from getting angry. He doesn't want to be angry anymore. “Promise?”

“Promise,” EJ replies. “There’s the party at Seb’s farm, right? I’m showing up at 10. I’ll find you, okay?”

“Promise?” Ricky asks again, and he feels like a kid, asking for affirmation like this.

“I promise.”

Ricky exhales, leans back on the toilet so his back rests against the porcelain. His muscles ache from being held in one position for too long, and he closes his eyes.

“Ricky?” EJ asks after a moment.

Ricky breathes, _one two one two_. “Yeah?”

“Keep the jacket. Looks better on you anyway,” EJ says, and the line goes dead.


End file.
